


No Different

by IGuessIWriteStuffNow



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Acceptance of Feelings!, Canon Era, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hugs, I know, In a way, Insecurity, Introspection, Jack worries sometimes but its okay davey loves him, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Post-Canon, Sappy, Then, but i promise its good, i know what youre thinking, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IGuessIWriteStuffNow/pseuds/IGuessIWriteStuffNow
Summary: It’s no different,you tell yourself, a worn-out mantra, as the summer sun beats down on your shoulders.He ain’t any different than any of the ones before him.





	No Different

**Author's Note:**

> so looking at the doc details on google for this, i wrote this all in late january and, since then, its been sitting in my files collecting dust. its short and cute and has that good introspection, so thought I would throw it out here for you. Enjoy!!

_It’s exactly the same,_ you think, watching as he walks ahead of you and calls out some slight bastardization of the day’s headline. The small lie doesn’t make for much of a fun title, yet some person- out of pity, maybe- stops to buy it. Your friend turns, then, and grins at you- proud of himself- and he is so, so beautiful.

But you’ve known beauty before.

_It’s no different,_ you tell yourself, a worn-out mantra, as the summer sun beats down on your shoulders. _He ain’t any different than any of the ones before him._

It isn’t that you don’t care about him. He’s your friend, one of your closer ones now, and it would be a blatant lie to say that you don’t. Sometimes you wish it was just that; you wish the care and concern had bent that way, so he would be endeared to you as something like a brother rather than whatever he is to you now. Whatever you feel for him- a mix of emotions with an unknown name- is currently hanging like a weight in your chest.

But things had happened the way they did and for that itself you aren’t upset. There is something comforting in the knowledge that, if you step forward, pull him into the nearest deserted alley, and kiss him, he will kiss you back with a smile. Having someone- well, having someone _in that way_ \- is something you’re familiar with and really, really enjoy. It doesn’t matter that it’s him. It could be anyone. It could be that young man with blond hair carrying a bag of food and speaking to his friend, it could be that pretty girl with the freckles walking out of a factory as you pass. It doesn’t have to be _this_ boy, with the light eyes and the mouth that speaks nearly as fast as his brain works and the kind of inventiveness and wit you haven’t seen anywhere else, save for Katherine.

_It doesn’t have to be him._ The thought seems quieter. _He’s no more important than anyone else._

He and Katherine are similar in a lot of ways, you think. Both are beautiful, smart, independent. Both are far too good for you. Both are destined for great, bright futures you have no part in, destined to realize how much better than you are they are, and destined to leave you behind. Katherine already has. It won’t be long before he does, too.

But that doesn’t matter. When he leaves, you’ll find someone new. It might hurt- it did with Katherine- but not for long, and then you’ll be over it. It’s not like he really matters to you. He’s only someone to kiss. Like with Katherine, it will be fun and it will end and the cycle will start again.

Now you’ve wandered into Medda’s theatre. You’re alone, you and him, and, in the dark, he takes your hand. His skin is rough and his fingers are thinner and longer than yours. Nothing like Katherine’s hand, or Sarah’s, or any of the other girls’.

But that’s just because he _isn’t_ a girl. It doesn’t make him special or different. It just likens him to those on the long list of young men you’ve kissed. And, yeah, you don’t usually hold hands with those boys, but also you never make friends with them, and if you did, you might’ve. 

You never really get a chance to get to know them, anyway. With boys, everything is a lot faster than with girls. It’s a rush of impatience and attraction that leaves you with a bruised neck and ruffled clothing instead of a name or the expectation of a second meeting. 

It isn’t like that with him. You remember the feeling of his skin beneath your lips and the short strands of his hair between your fingers and that’s fine, it’s the same, it’s as it should be, but then you recall the way he took your face in his hands and smiled- half-teasing, half-heartbreakingly fond- before pressing a long, soft kiss to your grinning mouth. And it wasn’t rushed or impatient. It was lovely.

So maybe he can’t just be boxed in with girl relationships or boy relationships. Maybe he’s a mix of them both and that’s _fine_. All relationships are like that, you’re sure. He’s a mix of every person you’ve ever felt affection or lust for, nothing more than that. He can’t be more than that. 

If he is, you might not be able to take it when he leaves. And he will leave. You can’t lie to yourself and believe he’ll stay.

He looks at you now in the dim light, eyebrows furrowed and soft concern in his gaze, and he asks if you’re alright. And you are- you’re fine, you’re _fine_ \- but you’re thinking too much and you don’t know how to explain that without explaining your thoughts. You’re supposed to be the one who acts without thinking. You rule by passion. It’s him- him, not you- who over-analyzes every goddamn thing. So why is he making you _think this much_?

You try smiling and reassuring him but he doesn’t buy it; you can tell. But he doesn’t push you. He just nods and walks ahead and lets his hand fall out of yours, leaving your palm cold, devoid of warmth and it _hurts_. Still, you’d better get used to it. He’ll be gone one day because he’s _the same._ He’s going to leave and then you’ll be alone and you won’t have his hand to hold and that idea shouldn’t be so painful, but it is. It occurs to you as his figure retreats in the darkness: he means something to you. He _matters_ to you. And you-

You love him.

You don’t know why it’s the sight of his back as he walks ahead and the coldness of your empty hand that makes you realize. But you can feel the pit in your stomach as all the thoughts you’ve repressed come flooding back and now you’re frozen where you stand.

You’re not supposed to-

He’s not-

You don’t-

. . .

But you do. This isn’t lust or friendship or mere affection. This isn’t you fooling around with the first pretty person you find. The only comparable feelings you’ve ever had were those for Katherine and even that… He’s not the same.

He isn’t the same, and you love him. 

You love him.

You love him.

And he’s walking away.

“Davey.” You say his name and it shatters through the darkness, reducing the space between you and him, your apprehension, and your denial to rubble at your feet. Before he can turn, you’re walking towards him, then pressing your body against his back. Your arms loop around his waist as you bury your head in his shoulder. He smells like burning candles and newspaper ink and _you love him_. “Davey,” you say again, because you deal in lies; the truth is his. You have no idea how to explain all the repression and the realization and the love, love, _love_ that is tearing you apart.

He turns and takes your face in his hands like you are far smaller and more delicate than you are. There is a question in his gaze. And, surely, there is also one in yours; there are so many things you want to clarify: are you just a _someone_ to him, is he going to leave you, _does he love you?_ But if you don’t say it now you might never.

“Davey.” It’s the third time in a row you’ve said it and it might as well be the most beautiful word to you. “I- I need you.” It isn’t the word you meant to say but it isn’t any less true. You, Jack Kelly, whose blood family is dead or in jail, who has lived on streets and on roofs and in lodging houses, who can make it on his own, as you tell yourself, needs, _needs_ this boy. And that need is so much a part of that love and you can see that he understands.

But there is more you want to say. You want to tell him that you’ve never felt this strongly about a boy before, that he stands out against the others so much that you can’t even kid yourself, that it will kill you when he leaves but you’re not going to ask him to stay, and, of course, that you are entirely in love with him. But before another word can pass through your lips, he is smiling.

He smiles and it’s the kind of smile that makes you remember why some people become enamored with a single grin. The skin at the corner of his eyes wrinkles and he makes a sound close to but not exactly a laugh and you can almost convince yourself that his eyes are glowing. Standing there in the height of happiness, he is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

Then he hugs you, arms around you like a vice, and you think for the first time that maybe he won’t be so quick to let go. He says nothing, just holds you, and you know he understood what you meant. He knows you love him and he’s not afraid. He’s not leaving. He needs you. And you let yourself believe that maybe this can last.

When he murmurs “ _I love you, too_ ” against your ear, you pull him closer and relish in the four soft words, each feeling like a promise of something you can’t name just yet. But it is there, nonetheless, echoing in your ears as loudly as if it had been shouted out into the theater. You shut your eyes and allow yourself to memorize every aspect of this boy you can’t help but love. You smile, and you wonder,

How did you ever think this was the same?

**Author's Note:**

> I have somewhat of an alternate ending for this written- basically the same but with more dialogue and the love confessions going down a bit differently- that I'm thinking of posting. We'll see.
> 
> I just wanted to post something short&sweet in the midst of the multi-chapter hell I've trapped myself in with my other fic and looking over this reminded me how much i enjoy one-shots. i might make a return to those.
> 
> As always, thank you so very much for reading. Comments make my stressed, college-app filled days far better, as do kudos. Have a lovely night!!


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